<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>this godhood of ours by whateverliesunsaid</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26140435">this godhood of ours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whateverliesunsaid/pseuds/whateverliesunsaid'>whateverliesunsaid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a study in pond [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, but for some reason i just feel like safekeeping somewhere else, this is a collection of stories i used to keep on tumblr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:40:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26140435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whateverliesunsaid/pseuds/whateverliesunsaid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which we are all like butterflies: we flutter for a day and think it is forever — or, girl meets the universe. can we get any more obvious?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amy Pond &amp; River Song, Amy Pond/Rory Williams, Eleventh Doctor &amp; Amy Pond, Eleventh Doctor &amp; Amy Pond &amp; Rory Williams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a study in pond [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/723672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. what we fear,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is a pretty random assortment of stories i was prompted to write back on my tumblr roleplay account for amy (pondelistic, for those in the know) that i was itching to safekeep somewhere else. enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>“Dear santa. Thank you for the dolls and pencils and the fish. It's Easter now, so I hope I didn't wake you, but honest, it is an emergency. there’s a crack in my wall. Aunt Sharon says it’s just an ordinary crack, but i know it’s not, because at night there’s voices, so please, please, could you send someone to fix it? Or a policeman. Or a—- </span>
    <b>back in a moment.” </b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not scared,” she said, stone faced, digging her spoon deep into her ice cream bowl later that evening. Though she didn’t lie — at least not as much as her teachers would believe —  it wasn’t perfectly accurate, this description of hers. Scared, no. She wasn’t scared. Matter of factly, amelia pond almost never feared for anything, most of all herself. If anything, she was quick on her feet and reactive like a powder keg. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>The doctor sat across from her on the table and he felt dreamlike in the best of ways; no adult ever does this, but he’d asked before:</span><b> do i look like an adult?</b><span>  (he did. but then again, he didn’t. she wasn’t going to argue with the facts, this clever child, and the facts were those: </span><em><span>he fell from the sky in a police box after i prayed for help, he listened, he helped. He came to save me. No adult ever did any of those things.</span></em><span>)  His words settled on her like a message from above:</span> <span>“Of course you’re not.” </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do not fear, Amelia Pond</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To which she replied in the depths of her soul where the words echo eternally against the hollows of her bones, the acoustics of the empty spaces where one day she’ll store stories to tell:   nevermore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>he left  .</b>
    <span>   he never came back  .   i’m crazy,  after all .  who dreams that ?  a lonely child,  that’s who .   he’s a dream .  he didn’t exist .  he’s my fantasy .  he came back .  oh my ,  he’s back. what do i do?   i hit him with a cricket bat …   fuck.</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fear sunk down deep into her stomach, taking everything else down with it as she stares the monster down. As human physiology dictates, three sets of action can take place in those situations: either you flee, fight or you freeze, so, of course, Amelia ran into the arms of her imaginary friend, carrying his salvation in her hand — and she never stopped doing that, if we’re being completely honest about it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. what we love,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She knows almost instinctively that it’s meant to be this way, this half formed thing sitting in front of her, a gift to be bestowed — waiting, </span>
  <em>
    <span>waiting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. An ugly little vulnerability just filling her plate up like pie until she can’t stand the sight of the kitchen. However, as all things ought to be ordered by a measure of good sense, she forces herself to sit down and hold her fork up, in the motion of picking at the food but never doing it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She talks, distracts the folks around the fact that she’s got her fill covered and protected, away from their sight as to protect from flies, or so she says. Everybody’s eating their own pride, swallowing with bitter smiles and small grimaces as not to offend anybody else. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not so bad, is it?</span>
  </em>
  <span> they joke, and Amy laughs and laughs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s worse</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The people come and go; mom and dad become aunts, uncles, friends, psychiatrists, shrinks, neighbours, boyfriends, Rory and Mels. Never does she pick at her plate with any proper gusto, any desire to eat. She’s always full to her throat of something that makes her feel almost baloonish in that way that characters look when they swallow balloons in the saturday morning cartoons. Big and round and floating all the way up until they pop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One evening, however, a guest comes along. He sits at the table with a curiosity that could make all things seem impossibly otherworldly and grand, were it not for the simplicity of the offering, no matter how rare. Slowly, but with impossible want, Amy uncovers her plate. A feast to the eye, even though it is shy, and small and homely. Even though it fears the reprieve it might just warrant — </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut up, brain!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Out of all his face, this eleventh might be the one she holds closest to her heart. And he accepts her offering with such vivacity she all but forgets it’s quite mortifying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve been saving all this for so long, i thought it would go bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>… she mentions offhandedly, as though it isn’t an apology. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he assures her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I also brought some. Wanna share?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile is almost coy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, of course.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. what we're peaceful in the face of,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the soft lull of the waves rolling her body closer to the shore and then far from it, gaia’s proverbial womb in it’s best, the heat of the sun enveloping her front entirely, amelia found herself easily slipping in and out of awareness, limbs sprawled in the waver, floating as the shore would have it for her to do. the lick of waves rising and falling between her toes, her arms, her legs, her hair. a lasting taste of salt on the back of her throat, soft enough that it meant no discomfort only that it evoked memories of the kingdom underneath where the doctor and the ponds swam faster than they ever did before, saving the planet’s lifeforms from an early destruction, it’s life quite so young, yet to emerge and feel the light on their skin. hiding in caves, swimming in the depths of the world.</p><p>no stars in sight for them to trace. with two suns and four moons near by their planet, amy could only imagine how it would be to emerge for the first time and find heaven was waiting above the waves all along: it was the sea of tranquility <em> alright</em> .</p><p>tentatively for what felt like the first time in hours, amelia opened her eyes to see the tardis towering above them close by, the doctor and rory also floating about. rory looking perfectly placid, as though he’d finally found his favourite place in the universe, his hand instinctively reaching to amy’s, a glass of a tall orange - yellow swirly shaped drink in his other hand . not a care in the world. not that one, at least . the doctor was, of course, playing with a ball while lying on top of a curious flamingo-shaped floatie, his face a masterpiece made of sunblocker-white and beige skin .</p><hr/><p>“how long have we been here?” she called, crinkling her nose with how distorted her voice sounded for her water-covered ear. faint, almost. like a song played with the volume turned down low. </p><p>“i ... don’t know.” the doctor answered from his floatie, head turned upside down as he leaned over the side to look at her. in another day and age, she would’ve taught him about spider-man’s iconic kiss to bother him . meaningless flirt, pressing his buttons just for fun .</p><p>“neither do i.” she admitted coyly and then laughed, her shoulders jerking upwards in the commotion of it . waves rolling off of her spot, “should we worry?”</p><p>“probably.” the doctor answered, still looking at her upside down, his eyebrows twisted . “or maybe not.” </p><p>“later,” rory begged. the doctor and amy exchanged a look, an old one. a look as old as time : the one two best friends share when they can sense trouble coming but . . . not quite yet. though it lurks, it doesn’t lunge at them quite yet. she nods slightly, turning her head back to the sun, closing her eyes. later will be just fine.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. what we grieve,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>couldn't bring myself to clear up the heavy editing in this one, sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>SHE  RAN  TO  HIM </em>
  </b>
  <span>,   HIS   VESSEL  OF  A  BODY  LAID  DOWN  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  DESERT’S  LAKE .    like  their  location,   his  death  too  felt  like   a  paradox  in  and  out  of  itself.     </span>
  <b> (  </b>
  
  <b>“   MY  LIFE  IS  IN  YOUR  HANDS,   AMY  POND .   “</b>
  <span>    he had  said  before.  </span>
  <em>
    <span> god,  how  stupid  i  was </span>
  </em>
  <span>.    </span>
  <b>  )     </b>
  <span> river’s  grip  and  rory’s  hold  felt  like  a  cage ,   her   fight  posing  no  difficulty  for  the   seasoned  warriors   :   like  them,   she   was  too   doing  what   she  did  best  </span>
  <b>   [        losing  a  loved  one       ]   ,   </b>
  <span>   tears  streamed  hot  and  angry  down  her  face,    a  quick   sense  of  guilt   rising  from  the   bottom   of   her  soul,   crawling  up   her  throat  ,   desperate  to     </span>
  <em>
    <span>ESCAPE    </span>
  </em>
  
  
  <span>   this  monster  of   her   own  creation .                    it  ate  her  every  word  ,    her  pleas  and  her  insults  .    all   she   could   do  was  </span>
  <b>scream</b>
  <span>,      his   very  own  banshee  </span>
  <b>   ( </b>
  
  <em>
    <span>death’s  best  girl </span>
  </em>
  <span>.    and  she   really  thought  she  had  left  that  companion  behind .  </span>
  <b> )</b>
  
  <b> “    LET  ME  HELP  HIM .   “   </b>
  <span> she  finally  mustered,    every  word   a  struggle  to  get  past  shaking  lips    and   chattering  teeth .     the  astronaut  dove   back   into   the  lake  where   it  came  from,   amy’s   fists  wishing   for  a  gun  of  their  own.    </span>
  <em>
    <span> IF  ONLY  SHE  HAD  THE  MEANS  TO  PROTECT  HIM  ! </span>
  </em>
  <span>    at  the  last  sight  of  the  villain,   amelia  finally saw  the  opportunity  to   free   herself  from  her  husband’s  grip  ,   dashing  forward to  his  side .    crashing  down  on  her  knees,   ears  straight  to  the  ribcage  where  the  TWO  HEARTBEATS  of  old  now  made  no  sound  .    trained  hands  jump to action,  pressing  down  on  his  chest  like  rory   taught   her  several   times   </span>
  <b> [    if  you  don’t  save  me,   i’m  gonna  die  .    ]</b>
  <span> ,    a  heave  of  desperation  replacing  her  quick  breaths   until  rory  takes  over,   his  hands  a  healing  touch  she  couldn’t  possibly  replace  .    instead ,   she  settled  for  holding  his  hand   .    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>her    best  friend’s   usual   warmth    had  gone  already,   color  of  his  cheeks  washing  off  more   and  more  by  the  second .     the  last  of  its  kind,  </span>
  <b> her  own  best  friend</b>
  <span> .     amelia   was   guilty  as  charged  .      if    it    was  an  assassination,   she  was  an  accomplice  of  her  most  beloved  friend’s  murder .   she  heard  rory  talking  to  river,   laying  orders  down  for  her  to  follow  </span>
  <b> ( </b>
  <span>      heaven knew  amelia  was  </span>
  <b>
    <em>useless</em>
  </b>
  <span>  ;     an  unmovable  object  ,   unable  to  lift  her  gaze  from  the  sight  of  her  friends  dying  breath   .    </span>
  <b>  ) </b>
  <span>   she  kissed  his  hand  once,   twice,  enough  till  she  lost  count  .   her  plea  a  prayer  turned  into  a  mantra by  the  power  of  repetition  :   </span>
  <em>
    <span> not   him .   please   not   him  .</span>
  </em>
  
  <b> [     to  whom   do    lonely    little   girls  pray ?          </b>
  <b>
    <em>ANYBODY  WHO  WILL  LISTEN</em>
  </b>
  <b>     ] </b>
  
  
  
  <b>
    <em> (     SHE   BROUGHT   THE  OTHERS   BACK,  LET   HER   BRING   HIM   HOME   TOO   !      ) </em>
  </b>
  <span>  ,      </span>
  <em>
    <span>she  will   be  better</span>
  </em>
  <span>  .    let  her  pay  for  her   sins ,   please,   but      </span>
  <b>do  not  take  away  her  boys</b>
  <span>  .      </span>
  <em>
    <span>our   father   who   art   in   heaven,     hallowed   be    thy   name</span>
  </em>
  <span>——</span>
</p><p>
  <span>when  rory  finally  stopped  pressing  down  on  his  chest ,   a  solemn  look  in  his  eyes  hiding  the  most  apologetic  face  from  the  women  who  loved  the  doctor  the  most ,    her  inertia  became  pure  energy  .    a  new  stream  of  tears,   her  body  shaking  entirely  when  she  fell  forward ,   holding  onto  the  man  who  showed  her  heaven  for  the  very  last  time  .  </span>
  <b>  (    </b>
  
  <em>
    <span>HOW  DO  YOU  SAY  GOODBYE  TO  THE   FANTASY   YOU  CREATED  INSIDE  YOUR  HEAD? </span>
  </em>
  <strike>
    
    
    
  </strike>
  <b> you   kill    it. </b>
  
  <b>  )</b>
</p><p><span>  before  she  knows  it ,   </span><em><span> far  too  soon ,</span></em><span>    they  pull  her  off  of  him  ,   limb  by  limb    until  she’s  seated  farther  away  ,   facing  the  dunes .   they  speak  fast,   lowly ,   and  she  refuses  to  comprehend  once  she  hears  the  word  funeral  .   choosing   the  dull   ring  inside  of  her  head  instead  ,    the  shot  echoing  for  hours  on  end   .  she  will  </span><b>not</b><span>  partake  in  honor ,  </span> <em><span>she  shouldn’t   be   allowed  . </span></em><b>the  body  of  this  god  of  hers  ,   her  falling  star  , </b><span>  is  burned  at  a   lake  who  begs  for  silence  and  she  doesn’t  say  a  word  through  it  all   .    her  vote  of  silence  might  as  well  last  forever ,   made   meaningless  by  the  lack  of  him  to  hear  them .     the  universe  was  already  worse  off    ,   she  could   </span><b><em>FEEL  IT  </em></b><em><span>.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>shut  closed  like  the  casket  he  deserved  ,   the  tomb  or   pyramid  that  may  be   ,   amelia  walks  away  from  the  lake  with  a feeling  of  lightness  about  her  own  body  .    a  third  heart  burned  at  the  pyre  ,    her  body  left  to  walk   scot-free   ;      her  life  in  his  hand     </span>
  <b>(   and  vice  versa    )</b>
  <span>      made  her   a    </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead   woman   walking</span>
  </em>
  <span>  .      </span>
</p><p>
  <span>and  apparently  it   also  made  </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>  one ,   too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>———  but   that’s   just   speculation.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. what we figure out,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>What happens after a declaration takes place is a lot like alchemy. after his words finally sunk in  —  or lack thereof, really —   amy chased rory down the stairs and out into the street, past the safety of her garden and the realms of her home. the chill of leadworth’s fall caught up to her and she finally stopped her pointless chase under the street lamp and called out for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“rory!  stop this,” though loudly,  he could not say she didn’t say his name with an unspeakable softness.  all jokes left behind,  that was a moment for truth.  the moment rory williams has waited for all his life.  her voice halts his speedy gait and he stops,  turning on his heel slowly,  trying very hard to swallow down the planet that seemingly stationed itself right in the middle of his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“hey, stupid.   are you going to say anything or..?”  she finds herself annoyed at his lack of reaction,  overwhelmingly sheepish under the influence of his gaze.  a fizzy, nervous energy plays at the edge of her skin,  at the tip of her fingers,  somewhere deep inside her belly and it spreads so far out she can almost feel him on the other side of this pull. she shifts her weight from one foot to another, the lamp’s light creating a sort of gold halo around her, a halo rory deliberately stood outside of. out of her reach. his arms cradling his books in front of his chest.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>his heart pounded so hard against his ribcage he was pretty sure she could hear it too. even though he did want to say something he can’t find the words, despite the fact he’s been rehearsing this from the moment he knew it was love. undeniable, all consuming desire.  the stuff of poetry.  the stuff of fairy tales, stuff she’s been making a conscious choice to avoid all of her life, through all the douchebags she dated, hooked up with or flirted with for no reason other than the fact she could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>rory watched it all go down and often times swallowed it down bitterly,  sometimes with the help of strong-tasting drinks to wash it down, though they couldn’t ever do the final trick and wash her name away from his lips.  and her face kept popping up in his brain whenever somebody spoke about the girl he were to marry someday, even if the description of said woman varied quite a lot from the one he dreamed of so much. her laughter,  her smile,  her glowing red hair.  her temper.  it was all amazingly amy-like and he couldn’t ask for anything else.   ‘   you can just say it ,   you know.   ‘ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>he knew what they said about amy behind her back and defied them vehemently,  often times red faced, angry and still trying very hard to not expose himself as the man who held the most vulnerable secret in the village.  he was in love with the girl who once had an imaginary friend.  and in the moment he prepared for so diligently:  he simply couldn’t tell her about it.  he sighed and explained:     ‘   we can’t all be like you,  amy  ‘   &amp;    turned away again,  books against chest,  heart against fragile cage and decided he would keep walking until she stopped asking questions.  and later,  when it was right,  when he felt ready,   he’d come back and say the words like he wanted to.  amy pond, i’ve loved you since the day i met you.   before the first man you fell in love with fell from the stars,  i was real.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>he kept walking away from the halo of light,  from her home and from her reach and amy found herself flexing her fingers,  that curious energy still running amok all over it.  his hurried steps on cobblestones echo faintly and she decides to walk back home,  too.  the beatrice to his dante,   perfectly lovable because she wasn’t a part of this love story yet.   she wondered whether she would ever be.   whether she wanted to    -    all of her previous flings had been a matter of  want,  desire,  lust.   this particular instance didn’t seem like the kind of thing you start wanting but rather the type you end up needing.   rory williams and amelia pond needed one another as much as the moon needed the sunshine. melody unknowingly opened a box amy would rather keep tightly closed:  she can’t lose him but she might.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her rose-hedge, all white, as curious as roses can be, had their petals all closed for their little scene.  all the windows of the neighboring homes all closed,  despite her awareness of the ears everywhere.  loud as crickets,  ruining their perfect silence.   inside her home,  a penny was thrown up in the air and she wondered whether it was a heads or tails situation for them.   to be or not to be.  lead or gold. yes or no.  friends or lovers,  no third option allowed. no come back in sight.  one thing,  however,  she knew for sure:  rory deserved a really nice girl. someone who’d take care of him,  protect him.  and she wasn’t that nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>rumor had it she wasn’t nice at all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. what we dream,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“take my hand. come with me. for old time’s sake: the golden days, the doctor and amy pond. don’t fail me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>he stretches his arm,  offering his hand and the ground beneath her feet cave.  she closes her eyes and the universe falls away.   she opens it again and it comes back to where it belongs.   and he is </span>
  <b>there</b>
  <span>,   still,   pleading puppy eyes and all.      god, he looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>so real</span>
  </em>
  <span>.    she knows it isn’t the real thing,  she knows he wouldn’t just do that.  come into her life after years of disappearance and call her on again.  </span>
  <b>not like this</b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“amy—”</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>rory’s calls for her and she turns her head to find him, too, reaching for her.  his eyes filled with a sadness she’s known forever,  always reaching for a woman he couldn’t actually catch up with — amy pond and her dreams, always </span>
  <em>
    <span>slipping </span>
  </em>
  <span>from his grasp.  wind-like,  she brushed past him without staying for long.  just enough to be </span>
  <b>essential</b>
  <span>.  just enough to ruin him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>stay.</span>
  </em>
  <b>” </b>
  
  <span> tears slide down her cheeks  and she stands w her sides turned to each one of them,      -      </span>
  <em>
    <span>her boys</span>
  </em>
  <span>      -   </span>
  
  <span>hands wrapped around herself,   around her bulging belly where a child hid.    this is a fear she’s known for a while,  now.   that someday she’d have to choose.  that one of them would have to go.  rory had already been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind</span>
  </em>
  <span>,  taking a detour around the universe with her     </span>
  <b>(   for her   )  </b>
  <span>   rather than building the life he always dreamed of.      rooted,  earthy,    </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>.    everything she didn’t want.   everything she wasn’t ready for but when had she ever given him the same privilege? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>she can’t recall exactly how they came to be here,  now,  standing in front of their little home where the smell of freshly baked pies escaped from the windows,   rose bushes around the white picket fence.   bicycles and that little yellow car,  that ridiculously mundane lifestyle. </span>
  <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fx&amp;t=N2RjZjk4ODczNGFiYWM2NjBkNTQ0NjNkMmI2ZjNkODViMzZjMGNmMSwzNTEyNDgwMDI3MzdlODY4N2ZjNzY2ZjYwZGM4MGU0YmU2ZGVmZGQ1&amp;ts=1598535212">
    
  </a>
  <span>rory’s</span>
  <span>  their </span>
  <em>
    <span>dream</span>
  </em>
  <b>.  How dare she leave now?</b>
</p><p><b>&amp;</b> <span>on the other side of the same coin  stood </span><b>the man she waited for</b><span>.</span><span> she dreamed of.  the man who came back and held her hand as </span><em><span>they took off running</span></em><span>. not the prince in a fairy tale but more of the </span><b>runaway love</b><span>.  and, later, she found: not even that.  the man who demanded nothing of her but wonderment. </span><span>her best friend,</span><span> who knew her even through lies,  even through forced smiles.   gritted teeth could hold no truth from him.  the man she’d bring back to her in every single timeline,  at every single universe who dared forget his name.  </span><b>he</b><span>:    the catalyst of her;    </span><b>she</b><span>:    the first face  /  </span><b> the voice who could invoke him from death</b><span>  /  the girl the doctor tells everything to  /   </span><em><span>the woman who waited</span></em><span>   /   </span><span>his greatest heartbreak</span><span>.    </span></p><p>
  <span>he set her free to run and she demanded he come with, </span>
  <b>   [      </b>
  <b>BE  HAPPY   /</b>
  <b>   DON’T  BE  ALONE      ]  </b>
  <span>   so she could paint his sky with the colors of her smile.   she made him grow accustomed with family and now, </span>
  <em>
    <span> how dare she leave him alone when she knew how he got ?   </span>
  </em>
  
  <b>amy pond  &amp;  her destruction power</b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>raggedy man,</b>
  <span>”     she  begs,   her hand reaching to grasp her raggedy man’s.    “please.”     </span>
  <em>
    <span>make it stop hurting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>Two dreams stand in each side of her.</span>
</p><p><span>amy finds herself choosing to run away,</span> <span>  fingertips dragging across his hands before she takes off through the meadows,  flowers dragging across her knee and the wet ground suddenly failing to be there.   she can’t breath,   the edges of her vision turn black.</span></p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>CONGRATULATIONS,   YOUR FILM IS COMPLETE.”    </b>
  
  <span>the female robotic voice all but shouts into her ear  and  before she can feel the pain of her collision against the ground,  she opens her eyes to find a mirrored version of herself.  </span>
  <b>red,  crying and fading. </b>
  <span> the glass top shifted apart,  a gust of cold sterile air rushing in as amy hoisted herself up and out of it.  a series of other pods were opening and from each one of them a different person emerged.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“So that's</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>what  they  meant  by  </span>
  <b>cinema  of  nightmares</b>
  <span>.”     amy said,  holding the copy of it they selected for her in case she wanted to watch it back.  Rory spun his wedding band around his finger, still attached to it after losing it in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened in yours,  anyway?”  he pried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>uh</span>
  </em>
  <span>-    the ice broke and i fell into a pond while skating by myself .  it was</span>
  <b> pretty stupid.</b>
  <span>”    </span>
  <b>she lied.</b>
  <span>    “doctor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“it didn’t work on me. </span>
  <b>time  lord  dna</b>
  <span>.“ </span>
  
  <em>
    <span>liar</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. what we admit,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>it comes so nonchalantly it could slip through the floorboards into another place entirely before she took notice of it, the softness with which the words are spoken, so small and    so precious.    words who, alone, held amy pond’s whole word in their hands. her eyes fell to her feet, socks with the pattern of saturn and comets pointing at many directions.  darkness and striking blue. she tries to focus on it rather than the slow and thick wave of emotion building somewhere behind her face,  crawling up her neck and growing dangerously close to her nose, a sniffle threatening to ruin the solemn silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>i love you, mother.   her daughter’s words rung in her ears,  the emotion she was fighting to suppress being nothing but a very rare type of delight. after the years had passed,  amy had lost any hope of ever being able to call her daughter the sweet names she held inside her heart.   to hear her darling child’s footsteps into the house,  to  be  hugged  and  tackled   and  to  cheer  for  and  protect .   to     love  and    be   loved  right   back.   instead,  the kindness of the universe had granted her a child who could overlook all of it.    all the guilty her mother bore,    all the years.    all the birthdays. amelia fought to remember everyday what river fought to forget.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the promised comets crossed the heavens above, the promised land nowhere to be found. she reached for her daughter’s hand over the cold of the little garden table and found it was warm and it held the feeling of home right at the center of it. if amy squeezed any more, she knew the whole universe would spill out of her.  her most beloved star.  it comes without much fanfare, her eyes still turned upwards:   i love you, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>soft voice made deep by meaning. her universe made greater by the light of her darling sun.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>